Dreams of Joy - Lisa See [121]
“And she hides food,” the widow chimes in. “She only shares with us when it suits her.”
In my mind, I haven’t done anything wrong. After all, I strip posters off walls as part of my job, I wear my old clothes so I won’t be wasteful, I teach Dun because he asked me to, and I share food to be a good comrade. I’ve heard of others who fight back when they’re criticized, believing they’re innocent or morally, ethically, or politically right, and I want to fight back, but that won’t help me get a travel permit to visit my daughter.
Following the slogan “Leniency to those who confess,” I rush to make full disclosure: “I lived in an imperialist country, I’m too accustomed to weak Western ways, and my family was bad.” They seem fairly satisfied with that, but I’m sure I’ll be accused again. As worried as I am about Joy, I’m thankful she’s in the countryside, where she’s liked for who she is and not under suspicion for where she came from.
Of course, all this is reported to Superintendent Wu. “You have no hope of getting a travel permit right now,” he tells me when I see him. “Just wait. Behave. And maybe you’ll be able to get one in time for your grandchild’s birth.”
I’m horribly upset, but what can I do?
I WAS FOOLISH to keep the scraps of May and me I’d stripped off walls in the box under my bed, and I need to get rid of them in a way that won’t draw more attention to me. I used to knit and sew for Joy when she was a girl, and now I’ve hit on a project—making homemade shoes for her and her family—that will also prove to the boarders who complained about me that I was actually being a good and frugal socialist in gathering this particular paper and that I am arm in arm with our comrades in the communes. I have two friends in the house, and I decide to ask for their help. The following Sunday, I first approach Dun. I’ve come to rely on him for many things, and he is, as always, happy to see me at his door.
“We have a good time together, you and I,” I begin. “You’ve shown me all the places I can go for tastes of the past.”
And truly he has: to the last White Russian café in the city to serve borscht, to a little place to buy cream so I can make butter, to a flea market to buy bread pans so I can make my own bread for toast.
“I enjoy spending time with you,” he says. “I’d like us to do more things together, if you’d like.”
“I’d like that very much,” I respond. Then I tell him about my project.
“That’s perfect!” Dun says. “But do you know how to make shoes?”
“No, but Cook does.”
Even though Cook let me be attacked by the block committee, I know he loves me very much. In fact, as I think about it, he may have let the criticism against me be voiced so that I wouldn’t be attacked in a harsher or more dangerous way sometime down the line. Maybe Cook was planning ahead to the baby’s birth. After all, how many travel permits can one person get?
I go to my room, get my box out from under the bed, and then Dun and I go downstairs to the kitchen. Since it’s Sunday afternoon, most of the boarders are out—window-shopping, visiting friends and relatives, strolling along the Bund—but Cook is home, too old and frail for excursions. He gives me a toothless grin and rises to put on water for tea for his Little Miss.
“Director Cook,” I say, addressing him formally, “when I was a little girl you used to make soles for shoes right here on the kitchen table. Do you remember that?”
“Remember? Aiya! I remember how mad your mama used to get at me. She didn’t like the mess. She said she’d give me a pair of the master’s shoes if I’d stop mixing rice paste in her kitchen—”
“Do you think you could show us how to make soles? I’d like to make shoes to send to Joy and the children in her family. Most of them don’t have any shoes.”
I open the box and dump the scraps of May and me on the table. Cook gives me another toothless grin. “Smart, Little Miss, very smart.”
Cook gets up and makes a paste from rice. Then he shows Dun and me how to glue sheet upon sheet of paper in a time-consuming process to build a sole. The final